


20 Crazy-Romantic Creative Ways To Say ‘I Love You’

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [7]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Ultimate Universe, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Body Image, Bottom Tony, Bottom Tony Stark, Developing Relationship, Dom Steve, Dom Steve Rogers, Established Sexual Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Impact Play, Kink, Kinktober, Kinktober 2017, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Sexual Content, Spanking, Spanking Kink, Sub Tony, Sub Tony Stark, Tony Angst, Top Steve, Top Steve Rogers, Ults Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 15:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12390657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: “Okay,” Steve said then, and squeezed the back of his neck.  “That’s enough for a warm up, I think, wouldn’t you say, Stark?”  And Tony almost sobbed, because warm up, Christ, his ass was on fire, the whole thing twinging with pain that tugged on his chest every time he moved, every time he breathed, little lancing shivers of heat going down as far as his knees whenever something pulled on the sore skin.Written as an extra Kinktober fic for Ults Day.  This is an extra fic, but it does fulfill a prompt from Day One: Spanking.





	20 Crazy-Romantic Creative Ways To Say ‘I Love You’

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from this article: [20 Crazy-Romantic, Creative Ways To Say ‘I Love You’](http://www.yourtango.com/experts/jim-carrie-gordon/25-romantic-ways-say-i-love-you-expert)
> 
> And Tony and Steve use none of them in this fic, yet, hopefully, start to nudge their way toward saying it all the same. (Hey, erotic spanking could totally be on the list. Right?)

“Put your head down,” Steve said, stroking his fingers through Tony’s hair in dramatic counterpoint to the harsh, snapping order in his voice, and Tony did it, put his head fucking _down_ , because Steve wanted it, on the sofa, feeling _very_ aware of his bare ass where it lay over Steve’s big, warm, muscled thighs. Steve rested a hand on the small of Tony’s back, and it felt so damn big, covering Tony’s skin, and Steve stroked a single finger back and forth over Tony’s spine, and Tony felt a shiver sweep over him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, just like that, at the smallest, tiniest affectionate gesture from Steve.

Oh, yes, he was fucked. And not in a good way.  Well, also in a good way, a wonderful, fantastic, incredible way, but more metaphorically, emotionally, even spiritually, he was _fucked_ , because he was deeply, deeply gone on Steve Rogers, and he didn’t know whether it was a crush or even, impossibly, ridiculously, laughably, love (because he was dying, and of course, of course he’d fall in love now, how could he not), but he was lost, even a sideways glaring look from Steve making his heart seize up and butterflies tremble in his belly, and he was nothing Steve would ever need, broken, breaking, dying, sick, no good to anyone.

And now he was selfish enough to ask this from Steve, something Steve was good enough to give him, though he flattered himself that Steve got something out of it, too, worked something out that way.  He was sure Steve had wanted to give him a hiding before now, and Tony wasn’t sure if that was why Steve did this for him, but he was happy to take whatever he could get, and help the good Captain work out whatever itches he needed scratched. Especially when it scratched some itches of Tony’s own.

“Are you ready, Tony?” Steve asked, all forbidding, commanding, and something deep inside Tony’s belly clenched up and shivered, and he felt hot all over, already, was his dick already getting hard, so fast, that was a little embarrassing. 

“Mmhmmm, big boy,” Tony purred.  “So, so ready, Captain.”

“Hmph,” Steve said, and Tony could just imagine it, how he’d look down, purse his lips and frown just that little bit, flushing just that little bit, going ever so slightly red. “And you remember: red, yellow, green,” he said.

Tony kind of wanted to say that you know, he was a goddamn genius, thank you, he could remember three colors, the colors of _stoplights_ , from one encounter to the next, but instead he just nodded, and said, “Yes, sir, of course, sir,” putting just enough purring heat into it for Steve to read it as a sexual jab, and not like the one thing every single instinct that made up Tony’s entire id wanted him to say.

“Mouthy little thing,” Steve said, and pinched Tony’s bottom, hard enough for him to yelp and squirm at the sudden profound sting of pain, but it sounded like he was smiling, so Tony smiled too, soft and hidden in the sofa and his own arms.

“Well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it, Cap?” Tony asked, his chest feeling warm and soft and tight and relaxed all at the same time, and he wasn’t sure which was which; he got all mixed up and soft and needy when he was with Steve, however hard he tried not to, and oh, God, had he tried, did he try.

“I don’t know, Stark,” Steve said, and now he sounded just a little uncertain.  His hand moved down, spread out over Tony’s ass, rubbing gently over the cheek, and Tony shivered, at the sensation of it, the intimacy, the warmth of his strong, hard, broad hand.  “You tell me.”

Tony didn’t, though, not sure what would be the right thing to say.  He didn’t want Steve to back out now; Tony had been fantasizing about this closeness, about Steve’s hand on his ass, the sharp sting and pain of it, for over a week.  The idea of it had gotten him through some pretty nasty sessions of chemo and drugs, and one concussion that coming on top of the rest of it had left him losing his lunch for hours, and with no Steve to kneel there with one hand on his back, looking tense and a little rattled and uncertain, to wipe his face for him and help Tony up and wrap him up in a favorite dressing gown and lead him back to bed, because Steve was away on a mission Tony hadn’t been cleared for, and that was just an extra little jab of misery on top of all of the rest of it.

He didn’t know what they had, but at least Steve was kind enough to be there for him when he hurled, most the time.  Because Steve was a good man, Tony figured.  Too good to let a teammate suffer once he figured out what was going on. Especially a teammate who had sucked his dick.  Probably that was why.  (It had to be why.  Nothing else made sense.)

It had maybe been a hard week, and Tony didn’t know what it said about him that the main thing he’d been looking forward to was having his ass spanked cherry red, the way Steve never ever stopped until he was _bruised_ , but hell, it was true.

So instead he wriggled over him and said, “Hit me good and hard, champ; I’m counting on your strong arm,” and Steve sighed a little, but he also squeezed Tony’s ass cheek, rubbed the pads of his fingers into the skin, stroked over Tony’s tailbone, so things were still going all right.

“Remember two squeezes for go, too,” Steve said, “if you’re too out of breath to talk,” and out of breath was a sweet way for him to put it, Tony thought, when it usually meant too wrecked and teary and overwhelmed and trying to breathe through the tightness of his chest as he gasped and sobbed, but that was Steve for you. Blunt, obnoxious, and strangely sweet on the flip side.  “One for stop.  My hand, my thigh, anything.”

But that wasn’t how they did things, so Tony said, “ _Out of breath_ , old man, you underestimate me, have you ever known me to be out of breath? I’ll take you up on that.” 

And Steve responded exactly how he’d hoped, with a gruff, “Yeah, last time we did this.  You’ll regret ‘taking me up on it,’ Stark.”

“We’ll see, darling,” Tony replied, and he couldn’t help how breathy his voice had gone, he just couldn’t, “if you ever start.”

“I guess so,” Steve said, and Tony thought he was smiling again.  He squeezed Tony’s ass, his other hand coming down as he traced the skin with both hands, warmth and sensation shivering out under Tony’s skin.  He squeezed and massaged for a long time, always did, either because he liked the fullness and shape of Tony’s ass, or because he thought he needed a lot of warm up, and Tony had never quite dared to ask which, mostly because he hoped both were true.  (And he did kind of need a lot of warm up; Steve hit like a Mack truck. But it would be nice if Steve liked Tony’s over-round, fleshy ass, too.  Especially since he spent a lot of time spanking it.)  “Are you ready?” Steve asked then, and Tony swallowed, nodded, tried to steel himself.  The first part was always kind of a shock.

“Good,” Steve said, and put one hand on Tony’s thigh, holding him still, before the other one came down hard on the fleshiest part of Tony’s backside.

It stung.  It burned, honestly, it hurt like being stung by a bee the size of a small dog, an intense moment of shock and heat and nothing but _sensation_ before the incredible sting of the pain started, and Tony yelled, almost sobbed, and then shoved a sofa pillow in his mouth because, uh, yeah, the walls were soundproof but he didn’t need to be humiliating himself anyway.

“Ah, Stark, you always talk such a big game, but you fall apart so quick and easy,” Steve said, and Tony had to be hallucinating from the first bright shock of it, because it sounded almost fond.  His fingertip rubbed against the inside of Tony’s thigh, and then his hand, still warm from smacking Tony’s stinging ass, moved up and pressed down over the back of Tony’s neck, the extra-warm skin pressing into his nape and holding him with his face squished down into the pillow, mouth open and pressed into the fabric of it, teeth digging in, so he practically _had_ to drool, even if it wasn’t that hard to breathe.  He whined, in protest at that, really, and Steve just tapped his fingers gently against the sore spot and sent tingling hot darts of sensation searing, sparking through him.  “You quiet down,” Steve said, and he was enjoying this, the bastard (Tony thought with a warm glow, because he always hoped so much that Steve would enjoy it).  “Try to be good.”

Most of the time, Tony would have resisted that, acted out and drawled something mocking and sarcastic and vaguely supercilious, thrown it back in Steve’s face, but now, like this—he didn’t.  No, like this, he actually tried to be good, swallowing his cries, muffling them against the pillow, as Steve swatted him again, even harder this time, right in the same place, then again.  Again. It was burning hot already, pain arcing through him and slamming right into his chest, his sternum, behind his breastbone, his stomach, knotting up tight, stinging burning heat spreading all over Tony’s ass, his thighs, his belly, just from Steve hitting that one spot on his ass with his big, broad hand, the way it rubbed Tony’s bare thighs and pelvis against Steve’s slacks.

“That’s better,” Steve said, then, rubbing his hand gently over where Tony was most tender, pressing in, squeezing until Tony was panting, bucking under him, his chest heaving. “That’s a good boy, Stark, see?” And oh God, Tony had to squeeze his eyes shut and breathe evenly because there was a stupid lump in his throat now, because Steve had, condescendingly, perfectly, beautifully, called him _good_.

He was so fucked.  But at least when he was getting spanked by a super-soldier, it was allowed, it _made sense_ , that he be fucked up by it, from it, for it, so Tony just lay there and panted and hoped for more, so that the pain could disguise his stupid throbbing heart.

Steve obliged him, after a few painfully wonderful, aching moments of his trailing his fingers and palm over Tony’s warm, twinging, tender ass, leaving Tony both relishing the tenderness and biting his lips against the emotion, afraid he’d give something away if Steve didn’t hurry up and get back to the action.

But then Steve’s strong arm came down again, this time on the other ass cheek, and oh, it hurt, it hurt so perfectly, and Tony muffled his cry in the pillow again, feeling how wet and scratchy and clumped the short fuzzy fabric was with his spit already. Tony loved it, the pain, the sensation that shot through him, the warmth and heat of it, the way it woke his body up, made it sing with adrenaline but without the danger of battle and the shaking fear that lived under his skin, trying to crawl out of his mouth, made him ride the edge of danger ever faster and harder.  Steve hit him so perfectly, not hard enough to hurt so much it was frightening, but hard and fast and unrelenting, until his entire ass was hot and painful and Tony knew it had to be glowing red.

“Okay,” Steve said then, and squeezed the back of his neck.  “That’s enough for a warm up, I think, wouldn’t you say, Stark?”  And Tony almost sobbed, because warm up, Christ, his ass was on fire, the whole thing twinging with pain that tugged on his chest every time he moved, every time he _breathed_ , little lancing shivers of heat going down as far as his knees whenever something pulled on the sore skin. 

“I’d say at least, darling,” he managed to moan into the pillow, turning his head just enough to get the words out.

“And I say you’re going to lie here and take your actual spanking and thank me for it,” Steve said, and ruffled Tony’s already sweat-damp hair.  “Say, _yes, sir_.”

Tony knew he should play along, should banter, should think of something clever, but he couldn’t. There was an ache in his belly and in his chest and Steve was there and smelling of warm old-fashioned aftershave and soap and his thighs were so warm under Tony and he already felt so wrecked. He let his eyes slip closed and said, softly, “Yes, sir.”

He could tell it threw Steve off; he hesitated a second, then squeezed the back of Tony’s neck again, went back to thumbing at his ass.  “Good boy,” he said then, a slow deep rumble, quiet and sincere, and Tony bit his lip against a moan, but he couldn’t hide how he trembled over him, how that sent a spark of heat to his cock so it pushed half hard against Steve’s leg.

Steve stroked his stinging ass, rubbing gently, thumbing over the most sensitive places, the ones that were most tender, and stung under his hand.  “You need this,” he said, and Tony didn’t want to nod, but maybe he didn’t have to.  He just lay there, limp and gasping, under Steve’s hands, and didn’t move.  “I know it,” he said.  “It.  It means a lot to me, that you let me give it to you, Stark.” 

And then, before Tony could really process that, when it was still lancing through him with the _what_ and the clenching, anxious throb of _feeling_ and the surprised twitch and gasp and shudder, Steve smacked his ass again.  He didn’t give him a second to adjust to it, cupping his hand so it hurt even more, if that were even possible, alternating between Tony’s ass cheeks, once, twice, three times on one side, then the other.  Just when Tony thought he was going to lose it, to start humiliating himself and sobbing already, Steve’s hand slid down, and he delivered an open-handed slap to Tony’s thigh.

He arched under him, sucked in a tight, surprised breath, but there was no respite now, either. Even while his ass stung and ached and burned in the air of the room, air that felt suddenly cool over his hot, throbbing skin, Steve smacked his thighs without mercy, until Tony forgot where he ended and the pain started, where his ass ended and his thighs began. When Steve brought his hand down with shaking, juddering force on just the place where Tony’s thigh met his ass, where he’d sit down, colliding against the stinging, throbbing ache already there, the first sob wrenched out of Tony’s throat with a breathless little embarrassing cry along with it.

“That’s it,” Steve said. “That’s more like it.  Now you can moan and cry a little, I’ve laid you out good, no one could fault you for that.”  And it felt—it felt so good, to hear Steve say that, to hear Steve _giving him permission_ like that, telling him that no one could fault him for—for anything, that another harsh little wrenching sob tore itself out of Tony’s throat.

Things changed after that, a bit, because Steve was clearly angling for Tony’s tears, would smack harsh and unrelenting at one spot until the pain was so intense, biting into him so deep and searing that Tony would have no choice but to let out a sobbing cry, then switching to the next.  It hurt, it hurt so badly, but there was no nausea or twisting agony or weakness, it was just a slap, harsh and jolting, the impact, the explosion of warmth and then pain.  Tony realized he was moaning between sobs and couldn’t seem to stop.

When Steve did stop, finally, Tony felt hot all over, bright red, like his face was probably deeply flushed, as crimson as his ass, every inch of him hot and damp and boiling, every nerve singing with painful sensation.  He just lay there and hoped the way he was sobbing, unable to stop or even slow down or choke it back, into the pillow, wasn’t too obvious.

Steve just slid his hand down, rubbed gently at Tony’s ass, at his thighs, making the pain spike even more hotly, but also making it twinge with an almost pleasurable, tender ache. Tony thought he would have bruises the next day, especially on his thighs, and luxuriated in the feeling, even as his body shook with clenching, shuddering sobs he couldn’t keep back.  It felt, strangely, impossibly, good, all that pain, and yet he was floating on it, somehow.

And then Steve was rubbing his back, soft and gentle, and when his fingertips slid up along Tony’s spine, pressing in gently, it felt so damn _good_ , and that was when Tony realized he was hard and throbbing, pressed between Steve’s thighs, and felt a hot zing of mortification, not sure if it turned him on more or made him wish his cock had stayed as flaccid and useless as it had been for weeks during the worst of his treatment and had never remembered how to get hard.  It wasn’t that Tony had never been hard around Steve before, far from it, but ending up hard enough to pound nails just from having his ass spanked until he was bruised and trembling and every movement, every _breath_ practically, left him so sore he groaned a little bit even if it didn’t wrench out of him in another pathetic sob—well, that was something else.

“You know,” Steve said, and his hand was sliding up Tony’s back, playing with his hair now, curling gently against the sweat-damp strands, stroking gently at the base of his skull, “I once knew a fella who could only get off by sticking his face in his dame’s armpit and smelling her, and another one who needed someone to step on his balls, I’m talking hard, before he could spurt.”

“Fascinating, truly, my darling,” Tony managed to gasp, after a long moment of feeling too hot and dizzy and aching and sweaty to even remember how to speak, quivering through his still clenching throat, his aching chest, his tears, “and the point of this story is?”

“You’re hard for me,” Steve said.  “And I like it.  So why are you acting like it’s something to be ashamed of?”

He flipped Tony over on his back before he could fight it, before he could really—do anything, and that was a bit embarrassing, because, well, Tony wasn’t completely feeble in a hand to hand fight (he worked out so much, trained with Steve so much, he tried so hard), but then his ass was pushing into the sofa and he was arching up and panting and trying not to let even more tears fall as the pain shot through him, turning all of him, every inch of him, hot and prickling with shuddering, agonizing sensation, and then Steve was lifting him with one hand on his burning stinging ass, and pushing him back against the pillows, and before Tony could think anything else at all, Steve shoved his thighs open with one hand, pushed his leg to the ground, and slid off the sofa to put his mouth on Tony’s cock even as Tony moaned as his sore ass and thighs pushed into the sofa.

Tony choked, shocked, felt his hand fluttering in mid-air, helpless and awkward and God, he had no idea what to do with himself, everything hurt, the pain of his aching stinging ass and his bruised throbbing thighs mixing together with the pleasure of Steve’s mouth around him until they were all one thing, impossibly exquisitely intense, and—and Steve’s hand came up, caught Tony's own hand in his, and squeezed once, his mouth, so hot and wet around Tony’s hard, aching cock, staying just where it was, and after a long moment, one that would embarrass Tony later with its length, of feeling his ass throb and prickle and blood pound through his reddened cheeks and down to his hard cock, in Steve’s _mouth_ , God, he realized Steve was asking permission, that that had been a question.   _No?_ in one squeeze, Steve’s big strong callused hand pressed to his, fingers intertwined.

Tony pushed his other hand into his mouth so another sob wouldn’t escape him and squeezed back twice, _for go_ , he thought, almost laughing hysterically along with the urge to sob, and Steve gently, thoroughly, earnestly, and a little grimly, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, sucked his cock, bobbing his head with determination, stroking the base gently with his fingers, sucking at the head, until the pain from Tony’s ass and the warm pleasure from his cock had mixed together, were all one, and when Tony came, he … he floated away, went somewhere else. 

He sort of regretted that later, despite how wonderful it felt, floating far away in a beautiful place where pain was pleasure and everything was soft clouds and warm, sweet sensation playing over his body and his ass was a gentle, pleasant throb of heat, because when Steve’s arm came around him, tugging Tony toward him, against his chest, his whole body aching and throbbing and feeling light and perfect and free, he looked up at Steve and realized that there was come just at the side of his mouth, and that meant he must have _swallowed_ , and Tony had _missed that_ , and if Tony’s tired, broken, battered body had had another orgasm anywhere in it that night, his cock would have been trying to get hard again, just at the thought of it.

“Steve,” he breathed, staring at him in shock, in wonder.  “You’re.  Uh, sweetness.  On the edge of your mouth.”  He touched the corresponding spot on his own bitten, swollen mouth with a hand that shook.

“Oh,” Steve said, and grinned, and swiped it off with the back of his hand, then _sucked it off the skin_ like it was nothing.  “Helluva thing.  Sorry. Liked doing that for you, though, Stark.”

“N-no,” Tony stammered. “Don’t.  Don’t apologize, please.  You’re …” _amazing, beautiful, wonderful, perfect_ “. . . always a surprise.  First soap operas, now this.  Cocksucking, my dear?”

Steve laughed, sounding a little sheepish, and blushed, and got a hand up, rubbed it gently along Tony’s face, just smiling at him.  “But did you like it?” he said.  As if there could be any doubt.  As if there could ever be any doubt, and Tony was, he was dizzy, he just—he just hoped he wasn’t about to cry again.

“Did you _like_ it, he asks,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “My God, Rogers, that was incredible. I haven’t come so hard in years.”

“And that makes me the winner of quite a competition, way I hear it,” Steve said, but his smile was fond, affectionate, and Tony wondered if he’d passed out from the pain in his ass, because had Steve ever looked at him with quite that much open fondness, or had he just missed it, before?  And Steve was still stroking his jaw, along his beard, down his neck.

“I like this cocksucking side of you, Captain,” Tony said, smiling at him, and meant so much more than that.

Steve looked at him like he’d said something sweet, then leaned in and kissed his cheek, blushing all the while, and after that, Tony had no choice but to cup his cheek in his hand and lean in and kiss him on the mouth, deep and wet and dirty, he just didn’t. When he pulled away, both of them were gasping, and Steve was very red.

“I didn’t go too hard, did I?” he asked after he pulled away a bit, took a moment to catch his breath. He looked at Tony, stroked his hand along his shoulder, his arm.  Tony felt warm all over, in a way that had nothing to do with the amazing progression of sensations Steve had just put his poor limping body through.  “You went away for a while there.”

“No,” Tony said, slowly. “It was a good … kind of away. A good place.”  He blinked, then just let himself say it.  “You can imagine, surely, why I might want not to be trapped in …” he gestured, letting his face twist wryly, as his fingers indicated himself.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and his face softened, inexpressibly, in a way Tony had only seen a few times before, a way that felt like … well, empathy. “Yeah, I had an inkling.”

Tony had to smile at him, shake his head, to brush that away, so he wouldn’t do what he wanted to do, and lean into it, beg for more, and ruin everything between them, whatever this was, building so slowly, with his own messy neediness.  He already got Steve to spank him until he cried every few weeks just so he could escape himself.  What more could he conceivably expect, demand?

“But are you feeling all right?” Steve persisted, and there it was, Tony thought, with a more genuine smile, feeling it curving his lips despite himself, Steve being sweet again.

Tony was aching all over, his ass throbbing, and it felt _amazing_. “Short version,” he breathed. “Yes.  Excellent.  Like you said, Captain, I did need this.”

Steve looked at him, earnestly, one hand coming up to stroke unruly hair out of Tony’s face, and he said, “And I’ll be here, Stark.  Whenever you need me.  That’s a promise.”

And when Tony was still processing that, staring at him in shock, his lips parting to say—something, he didn’t know, because no clever remark would ever be enough to respond to that, and his face was still wet with tears and his ass stung and his body was high and singing and hot with endorphins, with pleasure, Steve tugged on his hair a little and said, “Now, can I get you to return the favor with that hot, cocksucking mouth of yours, Tony, or do I have to give you another hiding, first?”

And Tony grinned, because this, this he knew how to do.  “Oh, Steve, I’ll suck your cock any time,” he purred, all velvet heat, and slid off the sofa, rocked down to his knees, his sore, aching, fiery ass all hot and throbbing and bruised against his heels, his feet, as he knelt on it, “you know me, you barely have to ask.”

But Steve just held his gaze.  “Tony,” he said.  “I’m always gonna ask.  Jesus.”

And even as Tony reached forward, determined to throw all his gratitude into sucking Steve’s cock, to show him how much it meant to him, he couldn’t help feeling like things had just changed, somehow, between them, and not—not necessarily in a bad way, either and a thrill of fear, of adrenaline, of _something_ swept through him.

But Tony still pushed it out of his mind for later, even though his hands were shaking with it, because, well, he was going to suck Steve’s cock, and he always gave that his full attention—and this time.  This time, he particularly wanted it to be good.  He particularly wanted Steve to enjoy it.  Enjoy him.

And if Steve’s hoarse cries and writhing against the sofa were any indication, he definitely did.


End file.
